turpitude.” Other counties had similar ordinances. In 1996, the city of Winnemucca became the first to issue brothel work cards to women previously convicted of misdemeanor offenses such as shoplifting.
After Petty finished his introduction—it was more for mybenefit, I think, than Eva’s—he turned to Eva and asked if she had already been to the doctor. Silently, she handed him the certificate that verified she had been tested earlier in the day for gonorrhea, chlamydia, syphilis, and HIV, with results pending. Petty pulled out an application form that asked for the name she was given at birth; all subsequent aliases and assumed names; her birth date; her address; a physical description (race, height, weight, hair and eye colors, and “marks, scars, tattoos”); her three-year employment record; and an explanation of any previous arrests. (Brothel owners had to complete a similar application to obtain a brothel license.) She would also have to sign a waiver to authorize both the release of subsequent medical information and an investigation into her criminal history.
As Eva wrote, Petty squinted, studying her.
“How old
are
you, miss?” he asked.
Startled, Eva looked up at Petty. Up until now, she had tried to avoid eye contact with him. She felt self-conscious and nervous at revealing to a law enforcement agent her intention of becoming a prostitute. But he expected a response, and she didn’t want to mess things up. She said she was twenty-one. Petty asked to see some photo identification and her Social Security card while she finished up the application.
Petty was cautious because of a recent scandal in which he’d been involved, having to do with the licensing of underage girls. He had mistakenly approved the fake identification of two minors seeking employment at Storey County’s third brothel, Old Bridge Ranch. However, Petty claimed, underage prostitutes were rare in his county. Police from Oregon, wherethe two minors came from, were less certain; they claimed that underage girls secured work as prostitutes in Nevada brothels using fake identification far more often than either the brothels or law enforcement liked to admit. Joe Conforte’s nephew, David Burgess, who owned the Old Bridge Ranch, defended the system to the media, asserting that his managers did everything they could to avoid hiring underage girls, but “If they’ve got the proper ID, there’s no way we can tell.” Remorseful about the incidents, Petty went out of his way to attest that he had always been very conscientious about verifying women’s identification and age. Since the brouhaha he had tried to intensify his scrutiny.
Storey and Lyon counties were the only counties in Nevada to grant brothel work cards to eighteen-year-olds. Elsewhere in the state, the minimum age was twenty-one. There was no upper age limit, although I met few working girls beyond their mid-forties. The exception was Dinah, Mustang Ranch’s oldest prostitute at sixty-three. Dinah had turned her first trick at fifty-one. “My first day, I lied when the manager asked me about previous work experience,” she told me one day at Mustang #1. “Of course I had never done it before. But I was a much older lady—almost fifty-two years old.” With a touch of a Southern drawl, she explained her atypical entry into the profession: “I was a virgin until I got married. My husband was an Ivy League graduate—stable, reliable, a provider. I had it all. But we weren’t compatible sexually. He was too big, and I didn’t get excited the way I should have. When it hurt, I went to doctors, who told me it was my fault; I wasn’t making enough lubrication. I hated to go to bed because hewanted sex. I would stay up all night, washing, cleaning, and ironing, so I didn’t have to go upstairs. I don’t blame him for getting another woman.”
After her divorce, Dinah began dating, and found she could enjoy sex after all. However, her fresh independence brought new
After Petty finished his introduction—it was more for mybenefit, I think, than Eva’s—he turned to Eva and asked if she had already been to the doctor. Silently, she handed him the certificate that verified she had been tested earlier in the day for gonorrhea, chlamydia, syphilis, and HIV, with results pending. Petty pulled out an application form that asked for the name she was given at birth; all subsequent aliases and assumed names; her birth date; her address; a physical description (race, height, weight, hair and eye colors, and “marks, scars, tattoos”); her three-year employment record; and an explanation of any previous arrests. (Brothel owners had to complete a similar application to obtain a brothel license.) She would also have to sign a waiver to authorize both the release of subsequent medical information and an investigation into her criminal history.
As Eva wrote, Petty squinted, studying her.
“How old
are
you, miss?” he asked.
Startled, Eva looked up at Petty. Up until now, she had tried to avoid eye contact with him. She felt self-conscious and nervous at revealing to a law enforcement agent her intention of becoming a prostitute. But he expected a response, and she didn’t want to mess things up. She said she was twenty-one. Petty asked to see some photo identification and her Social Security card while she finished up the application.
Petty was cautious because of a recent scandal in which he’d been involved, having to do with the licensing of underage girls. He had mistakenly approved the fake identification of two minors seeking employment at Storey County’s third brothel, Old Bridge Ranch. However, Petty claimed, underage prostitutes were rare in his county. Police from Oregon, wherethe two minors came from, were less certain; they claimed that underage girls secured work as prostitutes in Nevada brothels using fake identification far more often than either the brothels or law enforcement liked to admit. Joe Conforte’s nephew, David Burgess, who owned the Old Bridge Ranch, defended the system to the media, asserting that his managers did everything they could to avoid hiring underage girls, but “If they’ve got the proper ID, there’s no way we can tell.” Remorseful about the incidents, Petty went out of his way to attest that he had always been very conscientious about verifying women’s identification and age. Since the brouhaha he had tried to intensify his scrutiny.
Storey and Lyon counties were the only counties in Nevada to grant brothel work cards to eighteen-year-olds. Elsewhere in the state, the minimum age was twenty-one. There was no upper age limit, although I met few working girls beyond their mid-forties. The exception was Dinah, Mustang Ranch’s oldest prostitute at sixty-three. Dinah had turned her first trick at fifty-one. “My first day, I lied when the manager asked me about previous work experience,” she told me one day at Mustang #1. “Of course I had never done it before. But I was a much older lady—almost fifty-two years old.” With a touch of a Southern drawl, she explained her atypical entry into the profession: “I was a virgin until I got married. My husband was an Ivy League graduate—stable, reliable, a provider. I had it all. But we weren’t compatible sexually. He was too big, and I didn’t get excited the way I should have. When it hurt, I went to doctors, who told me it was my fault; I wasn’t making enough lubrication. I hated to go to bed because hewanted sex. I would stay up all night, washing, cleaning, and ironing, so I didn’t have to go upstairs. I don’t blame him for getting another woman.”
After her divorce, Dinah began dating, and found she could enjoy sex after all. However, her fresh independence brought new
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